Quesnel frowned, still not understanding, “You negotiated a peace treaty between the Shadow Council and the Vanaras? Without asking?”
“I didn’t name them, of course, but I think it’ll work. Aside from the dewan – whose likely to be the most on my side anyway – I do have the ability to persuade the other two members.”
“One being your mother; the other your adopted father?”
“Exactly.”
“And what about Queen Victoria?” said the Frenchman, looking more shocked than proud.
Rue, who had expected praise, was put out. “What about her?”
“You aren’t related to her, are you? How will she take being ousted from the agreement? Circumventing the power of the crown to negotiate a deal between supernatural creatures and their foreign counterparts? What kind of precedent does that set?” Quesnel’s tone was almost harsh. So far Rue had seen him angry and now coldly calculating. She wanted her old irreverent flirtatious Quesnel back. These other versions of him weren’t nearly as nice.
However, it made sense that beneath all his frivolity Quesnel would think like that. He’d been raised in a hive but his mother had other allegiances. He would be taught always to question the supernatural agenda.
Rue felt a sudden sagging in her stomach. She hadn’t thought about the perspective of daylight folk. She’d only thought about keeping the Vanaras safe. She’d neglected the human component entirely and with Queen Victoria that was likely to get a girl in real trouble. “Well, rats. I guess I won’t get to keep my sundowner status.”
“Probably not.” Quesnel brightened.
“And I never even got to use it, not really.”
“Buck up, chérie, you may still have a chance. I tripped over two werewolves sleeping in the hallway. We could take them up to the aether.”
“Why, Mr Lefoux,” said Prim. “I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty.”
The Frenchman smiled winningly at both ladies, and went to fish hopelessly about in the muffin crumbs.
As the sun fully crested the horizon, Rue lost her monkey shape. She was relieved to be human. Changing shape so many times in one night gave a girl a bit of a crisis of identity. It couldn’t possibly be good for her character.
Primrose unpinned her straw hat, only then noticing it was speared though with a Vanara arrow.
“Ruined, I’m afraid,” said Quesnel, placing a gentle hand on Prim’s shoulder.
Rue’s lip curled at the fact that he could be so sympathetic to Prim’s plight but not her own political blundering.
“I rather like it that way,” said Percy.
Rue agreed. “You should sport it proudly when we get back to London and start a new trend.”
Percy said, as if he had been actually thinking about Quesnel’s point, “You know who else is not going to be happy about this treaty? The Rakshasas.”
“There you are, chérie, now aren’t you glad you’re still a sundowner?” Quesnel used it to try and get back in Rue’s good graces.
Rue turned her full attention on Percy. “You’re right. They aren’t. We might want to ask the brigadier to lend us the Kingair Pack for the remainder of our stay in Bombay. They’d be the best deterrent if the Rakshasas want to take revenge.”
“Rue, are you actually considering asking someone else for help?”
Rue gave Quesnel a superior look. “I can be taught, thank you very much.”
A polite cough interrupted any further bickering. Miss Sekhmet walked out onto the deck, under direct sunlight. Admittedly, she wore Prim’s largest and most highly decorated hat in addition to Prim’s favourite full coverage purple robe – with fringe and a train. She looked not unlike a very fancy lamp-shade.
Rue had assumed the werecat was holed up somewhere sleeping off the night’s activities. Instead, she’d been pillaging Prim’s wardrobe. Primrose looked more embarrassed at her dressing-gown being worn on deck with a walking hat, than inclined to object.
“Miss Sekhmet. Thank you very much for retrieving Mrs Featherstonehaugh.”
“I thought, given her attitude, she might be useful.”
“Useful for what exactly?”
“Brokering peace, of course.”
“Was that always your mission?”
The werecat inclined her hat-covered head. Hard to tell if that was agreement or approval.
Rue’s own head teemed with questions. Are all werecats able to be out in daylight? Are they all able to withstand great heights close to the aether? Were did Miss Sekhmet come from? What is her real name? Who does she work for? Why did she not reveal herself as a werecreature from the start?
“A remarkable young lady, Mrs Featherstonehaugh. Perhaps a little hard-headed,” said the werelioness when Rue remained quiet.
“Next time, hopefully, she won’t go tearing off on her own pretending to be kidnapped. I suspect Dama will be none too pleased,” said Rue.
“As the potentate, he got a nice little treaty out of it,” protested Primrose.
Which proved how little she knew of Rue’s vampire father’s objectives. Unless Rue was very much mistaken, Dama would be upset over the shift in power. He liked balance above all things. Plus, “He lost his precious tea in the end.”
“Why, chérie, are you in trouble there too?” Quesnel was trying to sound sympathetic but Rue sensed he was secretly pleased.
Why did I ever want him? Rue wondered.
Miss Sekhmet interrupted. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh is deeply excited about a public revelation of Vanara existence. She is planning on writing a slim travel volume on the Tungareshwar Forest.”
“Inspired by Honeysuckle Isinglass, is she?” Rue raised her eyebrows.
“The hell she is!” sputtered Percy, going red in the face. “Not if I get there first. Rue, we must return to England this instant! The integrity of the scientific community is dependent on it.”
Everyone ignored this outburst. Rue remembered that she hadn’t managed to get Percy’s satchel for him. They’d have to float back to the temple to retrieve it. He would insist and he’d earned it.
She said, “Are you all right out in the sunlight, Miss Sekhmet? We could retire to the stateroom.”
The werecat looked at her strangely, guessing the prying interest behind the solicitous care. “I’m fine for a short while. It’s not as bad as it once was.” A tiny bit of information, doled out gently. She was good.
Rue gestured to a vacant deck-chair. They were all sitting at this juncture, in an exhausted circle about the vanquished tea trolley. Even Rue, who generally had more energy than any other human on the planet, looked wan.
Miss Sekhmet sat gratefully. “Interesting night.”
“My dear lady,” said Prim, about to pour the last of the tea. “You have a gift for understatement.” She checked herself and instead poured the remains of the milk jug into a tea-cup and handed that over.
“You are a thoughtful thing, aren’t you, little one?” The werecat took the milk and sipped it gravely.
Rue thought it odd that Prim blushed so much at the compliment.
“Miss Sekhmet, who do you work for exactly? I thought you were with the Vanaras but they put you in a birdcage. But you can’t be with the Rakshasas – they put you in a flower cart. You aren’t one of Dama’s, so who?” Rue decided on the direct approach. She tried to emulate Primrose’s welcoming charm, but was too tired for acting.
The beautiful woman gave a self-satisfied smile. “My dear girl, I am cat. I don’t work for anyone.”